Line Cmdr. Sundeelia: Remembrance, Part 6 – “Sacrifice”
The tall, slender young man strode defiantly into the garden where his Grandfather was waiting for him. Lord Chananda ignored him for a moment, instead, he conveyed all his attention on the colorful male peacock that was strutting against the white wall of the enclosed private garden. What a beautiful creature, he thought. Which one? came an internal query. A secret smile crept across the older man’s strongly defined features. Then he turned and surveyed the young man from head to toe, the guarded mouth, the tension in his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders. Lord Chananda shrugged and then let out a sigh, thinking, “So like his father…”
The grandson, Aman, stood quietly as his grandfather’s light green eyes passed over him. Yes, he was angry, upset, confused… his father had just committed a dangerous act of entering enemy territory with a small fleet of ships. And his inner awareness could no longer feel his presence in his mind, where he had always been since the time of Aman’s birth.
“Aman!” The resonant telepathic voice was like a whip hitting him, even as a wash of warm loving energy stole over his body. The young man straightened his long tunic and repositioned the shawl that was draped casually over his shoulder. He missed his priestly robes, but the summons from his grandfather seemed urgent. He pulled at one gold earring, wondering at his own nervousness. He knew that somehow his life was about to change…
“Sir,” replied the young man, slightly hesitant. Then he blurted out, “My father…!”
“Yes, Aman…your father.”
The tall lord hesitated for a moment and then said quietly, “Your father is dead in battle.”
You could not feel his passing? The internal query shook him to his core.
Despite his anger and upset towards his strong-willed father, his son staggered with the shock of the bald statement from his serene grandfather. Lord Chananda stood quietly waiting for Aman to recover. It took a while as, despite their differences, son and father loved each other deeply. Finally, Aman straightened up, again, and looked into the pale green eyes of the older man.
“What does this mean?”
The reply was a rebuff, swift and harsh, “Your mother…” There was a brief pause.
“…must enter the funeral pyre after a suitable time of preparation and prayer.” The young man was as pale as the white sash about his waist.
Lord Chananda nodded, “You of all people should know our custom.”
“Yes…yes…of course.” Aman nodded slowly, his eyes blurred with tears. When were these wars and battles going to ever end? Many of his friends and companions from school had already perished in battle, their mates releasing their lives within the funeral fires. “I will send a priestess to prepare her.”
Lord Chananda waved his hand in dismissal, “There is no need. I have sent for her. And she already knows.”
“Where is he…?”
“He died in space. He will not be returning to us…”
For those readers who are not aware of the Sirian beliefs on reincarnation, it was felt that a soul would be reborn on the planet of their birth if and only if s/he died within the atmosphere of the isle. Since Aman’s father had died in space, it could not yet be determined where his soul would choose next to reincarnate. He would not be returning to Sirius.
The Sirians regard the physical vessel as a temporary vehicle. They are quite aware of the journeys that some souls take as they climb the ladder of soul evolution. Some souls move at a slower pace; some move like a wildfire. Aman’s father was one of the latter.
Aman stared at his grandfather, a man whom he regarded as a kind, gentle, sometimes distant person given his vast age and experience. His grandfather’s face was quiet and serene, as usual, but Aman could feel the grief within. However, Lord Chananda was not given to sharing his thoughts or emotions with his grandson. The great lord had lived long enough to see many sons and daughters go into the fires; Aman’s father was but one of the latest, but… there was nobody to retrieve. He was lost in space.
“Aman, you will retire from the priesthood and find a mate!” The quiet order from his grandfather startled Aman, but he knew enough not to argue. An order from his grandfather was due to an instruction directly from Source. As a man of his House, Aman, too, knew his duty. Too many young men and women had died due to the wars, especially from the higher castes that produced most of the warriors and commanders.
It was with a shiver that Aman realized that he was now the head of his House, after his Grandfather and Great Grandfather, Lord Krishna.
Lord Chananda spoke up again, disturbing the young man’s whirling thoughts, “What woman will you select as your mate?”
“Ananda Devi Kavioush,” blurted out the startled young man. He blushed and then realized that his parents, Lord Delos and Lady Anya had hoped that the young Ananda would be his mate. She was of high birth, being the daughter of a cousin to the mother of the present Lord Kavioush, ruler of Sirust. He remembered with a shiver the sight of her thick white blonde hair hanging down below her waist when they used to play with the other children, the flicker of a smile across her sweet face, the long dark lashes hiding her deep green eyes. Then he realized, with some irony, how his wily father had trapped him into fulfilling his parent’s greatest wish, to see their child happily mated and settled. Then he remembered, “Ananda… she is a priestess.”
The older man smiled briefly, “That is of no matter; she has been freed of her vows, as well.”
Aman could hear his father chuckle in his head. Was he really gone? The wily warrior had won another battle. He knew…he knew!
Lord Chananda watched his grandson leave the garden and enter the passageway to the rooms that were kept for him when he visited the mansion. He would have to remind the housekeeper to arrange for the young man’s belonging to be moved to other quarters, suitable for his new rank. And then he smiled gently, feeling the awareness of this indefatigable woman as she acknowledged his request…as already being done.
Dropping into deep meditation as he sat on the cool stone bench, he stretched out his vast causal body in search for the consciousness of his son. There…a bright light beyond the stars… our stars, on the edge of Sirian space. There was debris floating through the dark spaces, the remnants of a great battle. What had happened here? And then, reaching out, again… he felt the withdrawal…no, the protecting mantle of another great Being, Beings…surrounding the life essence of his son’s light body. Where? He queried the silent Presences. Arcturus…they replied, for healing. Silently within, he nodded, understanding. And someday, he knew he would again meet the one who had been a beloved, brilliant, and at times difficult son. And he knew to the core of his being that this one would be very changed in appearance and no longer Sirian…
Two months after the death in battle of his father Lord Delos and one month after the death of his beautiful mother, Lady Anya, on the funeral pyre, the young couple Aman and Ananda celebrated their matation (wedding) according to the ancient customs of Sirust. Covered with leis of fragrant flowers, bedecked in gold jewelry and pearls, and wearing bright orange and yellow robes, the young couple was paraded through the streets of the great city, past the sprawling mansions and gardens, up the hill to one of the greater Temples. Despite the depredations and hardships of war, the citizens of Sirust came out to celebrate the beginning of a new life for these two young people…and perhaps a new beginning for their world, as well.
As he stood before the high altar, for a moment Aman felt disoriented as he looked into the familiar face of one of the priests who had instructed him long ago in the sacred rituals. Then he glanced over at the radiant face of his lovely bride and felt a great peace come over him suddenly like a beautiful blessing. He knew then that his father and mother approved of the union and were pleased. With that, he let go of his anger and grief and concentrated on the beautiful ceremony and the life ahead.
Two years later, the young couple was blessed with the birth of twins, one daughter and one son. As a proud grandfather bent over the cradle holding the newborns, he felt a familiar essence…in fact two familiar essences… one was Tazo reborn. And no, the daughter was not Delos… for he was somewhere else altogether…
Thus ends this part of my Remembrances series. As one might wonder how I’m going to tackle the next part, the battle between the Belials and the Sirian fleet. I’m not a military tactician in this life or a professional writer…or for that matter, even a male. How will I know what Delos is thinking and feeling? We’ll see… in the next part of this shaggy dog story. I will say this… writing is an excellent way for me, at any rate, to process these memories and glimpses into a whole different world and time. I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my record put down here as it is just impressions of a place and people who are very different, yet similar to us at the same time. Life and the celebration of life, the joy it can bring despite any hardships is enough to keep me going through everything that is presented to me, here and at Home, for I AM one who lives in two worlds at once.
Peace to all,
I AM Sundeelia VaCoupe, Line Cmdr. of the Pleiadian Flagship, The White Winds.
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